


Only Human

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Caretaking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Latrophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Tenderness, Trust Issues, Whumptober 2020, childhood fears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: The next time he opened his eyes, the pain had settled to a residual ache in his ribs. The tight sensation like his lungs were being strangled by a tremendous pressure was now absent, only present in sharp stabbing jolts when he’d take too big of a breath. Geoffrey didn’t dare move at first as he felt the extent of the damage to his body, finding an oddly tight sensation on his arm. As he blinked against the bright lights, he realized with a sickening sense of fear dropping in his stomach like a lead weight, that he was inside a hospital. The water stained ceiling stared back at him with ugly dark marks and the softer murmurs of who he recalled to be Nurse Hawkins chatting with Nurse Branagan made his blood run cold. He glimpsed an IV in his arm and most of his clothes had been replaced by the itchy thin gown that was customarily given to the hospital patients.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum & Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	1. Geoffrey

**Author's Note:**

> Geoffrey suffers from Latrophobia (a fear of doctors) and ends up on the one place he wants to be the least. Jonathan is left to clean up the aftermath of his panicked hunter and care for his wounds without getting stabbed in the process.
> 
> An idea that came to me while I was pondering the overly macho status of most dominant male figures in media and I decided, "Maybe Geoffrey doesn't just hate Jonathan and Swansea (and Pembroke) because of the Brotherhood and Vampires, but because he's secretly afraid of doctors and is using his mistrust of them as an excuse to avoid taking care of himself. He's not macho and a hardass, he's just terrified because of a childhood phobia that he never dealt with properly."
> 
> So here we are. This was massively encouraged by the members of the Pembroke Hospital discord server. A wonderful place full of bright minded and eager fans of the Vampyr game.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. The first part will be Geoffrey's POV, and the second is Jonathan's.  
> Please leave a comment and kudos about what you think! The support is appreciated!

"Bloody leech." Geoffrey hissed through his teeth as his blood dripped between his fingertips in sluggish droplets that congealed together, tacky and warm against his skin. The ekon got a lucky shot in on him shortly before the hunter severed its head from its body, allowing it to roll across the gravel pit where it rightfully belonged among the refuse and abandoned wreckage of old factories long since closed. The fight had been a hard fought one but Geoffrey realized all too soon that he had been too overconfident against his prey. The ekon feigned a handicap causing him to lower his guard and overstep his limits. The blow would have killed him had he been even a fraction slower. It may still, he realized as he watched the blood puddle on the stones at his side, coating them in a glossy black sheen that reflected the low firelight from burning barrels lit to keep the foolish and unfortunate beggars warm through the long cold English nights.

He leaned his back against the brick wall and sighed, turning his head towards the smog riddled skyline heavy with dark clouds ushering in a storm. He could feel it crackling across his skin, could hear the distant rumble over the sea as the waves slapped furiously against the small docks along the channel. Boats rose and fell, crashing and brushing against the sides as the wind picked up to howl against his alcove. _A right scummy place to die_ , he sighed. The pain was a fire along his side causing him to grow unsteady as blood loss made his vision swim and his head swoon with growing dizziness.

The shadows were long, tossed across the gravel pit where the dead ekon lie, the shuffle of footsteps slowly approached. He had the thought to reach for his sword but his arms refused to move. His hands were heavy, a dead weight against his side trying to stem the flow of blood. His arm was going numb, his fingers twitched with an aborted attempt to grasp the blood soaked fabric. The fear of dying was a fleeting thought that swooped closer as he struggled to stay awake. His eyes slid across the landscape as a dark figure appeared in a burst of shadows. A slow step forward dispersed the cloud but Geoffrey didn’t have time to see what beast had come to secure his death.

He parted his lips with a halfhearted slur, cursing towards the approaching figure as the world toppled over into darkness.

  
  
  


Geoffrey recalled being touched by strong hands as the pain turned into a roaring fire blazing through his ribcage. He remembered waking long enough to expel the contents of his stomach into a bin, frantically clutching at the container as his eyes watered. The agonizing nausea only fueled that fury screaming across his torso as strong hands tried to pull him back. He flopped against an uncomfortably hard surface as someone spoke above him but his heart thundered in his ears, a wash out of noise as mumbled voices filled the room. He groaned, a pitiful sound that slipped past his lips as what felt like a blanket was drawn up around him. He shivered and wadded the fabric up in his grasp.

“Geoffrey.” He heard someone call to him but his reaction was delayed and watered down to a barely audible grunt. His thoughts were hazy as he felt the urgent pull of sleep tugging at his consciousness.

  
  


The next time he opened his eyes, the pain had settled to a residual ache in his ribs. The tight sensation like his lungs were being strangled by a tremendous pressure was now absent, only present in sharp stabbing jolts when he’d take too big of a breath. Geoffrey didn’t dare move at first as he felt the extent of the damage to his body, finding an oddly tight sensation on his arm. As he blinked against the bright lights, he realized with a sickening sense of fear dropping in his stomach like a lead weight, that he was inside a hospital. The water stained ceiling stared back at him with ugly dark marks and the softer murmurs of who he recalled to be Nurse Hawkins chatting with Nurse Branagan made his blood run cold. He glimpsed an IV in his arm and most of his clothes had been replaced by the itchy thin gown that was customarily given to the hospital patients. 

He searched the small space around his cot and spotted his trousers and his boots set on a chair. All the rest of his belongings were missing, probably due to that fecking leech doctor. He sneered as he shoved himself to sit upright. He regretted the motion as soon as he did it as the earlier dull ache was revived like a piercing lance through his chest. His breath stuttered as he sucked in a sharp gasp and tried to breathe through it. His heart hammered loudly in his chest, thundering against his ribs as shaky hands grabbed for the IV line in his arm. His fingers trembled as he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away while pulling it out of his arm. He swallowed the groan in his throat as blood started to drip from the puncture.

He hung his legs over the edge of the bed, his gaze lifting to spy the patient in the bed beside him. A bloody stump wrapped in thick bandages encircled a bum leg, from the looks of the man he was probably a factory worker. The pallor of his skin was accented by black smoke ringed stains from years of exposure and the grease streaks that never quite wash away. His fingers were wound around a rosary against his chest with blankets haphazardly tossed about the bed from feverish thrashing. Somewhere else, he could hear the ghostly wails of a woman's agony as she cried and sobbed profusely. It stirred the pained moans of a man a few cots down as he mumbled and coughed, nearly choking as he worked up some blockage in his throat.

All around were pale inhuman faces, ghostly visages of misery and pain that haunted him. Strange instruments and vials of 'medicine' lined the closed and locked cabinets but he could see them gleaming back at him through the glass panels. The erratic beat of his heart brought forth a sickening wave of nausea but he forced himself to shove it away. 

_'Don't think about it. Just find yer shite and get the fuck out of here.'_ Geoffrey reminded himself, forcing off the phantom fears of childhood, and the distress horrid places like these fueled inside his chest.

He struggled to remove the gown as he moved his arm to lift the fabric over his head, going too quickly pulled at the bandages and stitches along his side. The thick padding where the beast patched him up was a hindrance to his mobility but so was the pain his wounds caused from that bloody leech in the gravel pits. He hissed through clenched teeth and heaved a heavy breath once the gown was discarded, letting it drop to the floor as his bare feet stepped on it with disdain. He had half a mind to burn the fucking thing if he had the free moment but he was in a hurry, racing the sun to flee this leech loving lair of deceit and lies. A mausoleum made for the living with vile instruments of prolonged torture and inevitable misery.

He pulled his trousers on with clumsy movements, his fingers shook too much to properly slip the buttons through the holes. Geoffrey cursed as he fumbled until he managed to fasten at least one in place, good enough to hold him over until he found a Priwen safe house to lie low in. The act of bending over to get his boots on felt like a marathon effort as tears prickled the corners of his eyes. Every breath was a stabbing pain as he tried to pull the boot on. He didn't have the energy to fuss with his laces, simply shoving them in around his ankles haphazardly.

He straightened up with a gasp, gulping in air and wincing at the pain in his chest as he tried to breath. His lungs burned as he grimaced and pushed himself to his feet, shuffling a step forward as he searched the rows for any sign of those bloody doctors and their patrolling along the halls and rooms, like wardens in disguise watching over the prisoners to their own biological chains. They encouraged such helplessness and vulnerability, coaxing God knows what into their system.

He refused to become a vessel of helplessness dying like a withered husk in a hospital bed. He clenched his teeth and stepped out, mentally mapping the wards and halls from when he had scoped them out prior during his sparse few visits to ensure Swansea, the weaselly little bastard he was, wasn't up to some foul misdeeds. 

He managed to shuffle past the rows of cots and narrowly avoided the passing steps of Nurses Branagan and Hawkins. Dr. Ackroyd was oblivious as he prepared a syringe, connecting the damnable thing to the IV of a sleeping patient. Geoffrey's pulse quickened as someone in another room screamed, a ghastly shriek that made him jolt and nearly stumble back into an unused bed. He whirled around and shuffled quickly away, finding a second set of doors at the other end of the room, mindful of his steps as he slipped through the door and ran right smack into what appeared to be a replication of a younger slightly taller Swansea.

Geoffrey felt his heart climb into his throat with panic as the doctor's eyes widened in shock.

"Sir, you really should be resting." He nearly blurted, far too loudly in Geoffrey's ears. He panicked as the man did a quick once over, noticing Geoffrey's shabby half dressed state and the blood trailing down his arm where he ripped his IV out. 

"Sir please, return to your bed." The man took a step away from the cart he had been preparing with a myriad of sharp and deadly looking instruments. Geoffrey felt his mouth go dry and the sweat bead his brow, nausea was rampant as his gaze flickered frantically from the cart back towards the man. He reached out for Geoffrey, his hand barely brushing his shoulder when the hunter twisted away and shoved his shoulder into the doctor's chest. He stumbled back into the wall with a cry of combined shock and pain. He grabbed at Geoffrey, fingers catching at the bandages as Geoffrey recoiled back with a pained growl of his own. His fist met the doctor's stomach followed by another blow to the side of the face, the last held less power as every motion pulled at his stitches and left him breathless and unsteady on his feet. The doctor slid down the wall to crumple on the floor, curled in on himself.

Geoffrey fumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet as a nurse cried out and shouted. "MILTON!"

Geoffrey whirled around to find Nurse Hawkins standing at the end of the hall, her eyes wide as footsteps hurriedly approached. The hunter snatched at a scalpel from the tray, curling his fingers around the handle as he shouted back. "Stay away from me the lot of ya."

He held the scalpel up, a weapon so small and inferior to his own sword but held enough sway over the approaching staff to keep their distance. Dr. Ackroyd had stopped in his tracks by the doorway he had just fled from and held his hands up placatingly.

"Sir, calm down please. We mean you no harm."

"Fuck off." Geoffrey hissed, one arm cradling his side as he backed towards the rear exit. The nurses watched with mounting horror as the ambulance driver rushed in and slowly closed the distance with Dr. Ackroyd aiding in flanking him.

He chanced a glance at his back and found the door right at his heels. With a quick whirl around, he forced the lock open and slipped outside. The sound of footsteps pursued but Geoffrey kept going, forcing his boots to pound the cobblestones as he sucked in each frantic breath. His legs felt like jello as the muscles burned, protesting the amount of effort he was forcing himself to endure with so little oxygen filling his lungs. Yet he didn't stop, not until he was across the bridge and down the street, racing towards the safety of Whitechapel, away from this hellscape and the leeches that patrolled those halls filled with prey in waiting.

He didn't slow down until his head started to spin and his steps grew unsteady. He nearly tripped twice as he fumbled to keep his footing and slowed. Slipping into the alcoves tucked away from the open street view, he leaned against the brickwork of the walls, huddled away in the shadows and refuse as daylight waned towards the setting sun. He feared the leech doctor would rise soon and pursue his trail, before then he needed to get as far from that place as possible.

"Fecking Swansea's multiplying in that God damn place." He cursed and spat on the stones at his feet. His hand ached from the punch to the doctor's face, as satisfying as it was to hit Swansea Jr, he didn't anticipate the repercussions. His whole chest was on fire as he worked through each breath with waves of unpleasant nausea rippling through. As much as it hurt his pride, he found himself bent over against the wall retching his guts up into the trash heap. His eyes stung with the effort as his stomach spasmed in an attempt to force up more than it actually had to offer in painful dry heaves.

“Oi, it’s a bit early to be sloshed, eh?” A voice shouted from the street. Geoffrey wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stifled a groan as he straightened up, the scalpel still clenched tightly in his fist as he turned to inspect the owner of the voice. The thick blackish blue outfit and the rounded cap signaled it was none other than a bobby that had unfortunately stumbled upon his huddle.

Geoffrey didn’t exactly have a good reputation with the local Constable after a certain bar fight in his youth led to the hunter knocking three of his men out and injuring two more. Carl hadn’t necessarily been pleased when he had to bail his ward out of jail after a long winded negotiation and a lot of money stuffed in various pockets to let the incident slide. Even in adulthood, he still bumped shoulders and butted heads with the men in blue, and on more than one occasion, has felt the brutality of their nightsticks breaking skin across his back and chest.

He doubted being on a first name basis with most of the Bobbies in the city due to past transgressions wasn’t winning him any popularity awards anytime soon, and least of all, any love from the men in blue that patrolled the streets.

“You lost there lad?” The man dragged out the word as his hand fell to the nightstick on his hip, an automatic reaction as Geoffrey shuffled closer, leaning heavily against the wall for support. He could feel the stitches pulling in his side and swore he felt at least one or two pop while he was retching. He sucked in a sharp breath as the man got a better look at him and swore.

“Why don’t ya come out nice ‘n easy, alright?” The bobby took a cautious step back and beckoned to Geoffrey, urging him out of the little nook he’d found a brief moment of safety within. He shuffled closer until he reached where the wall stopped at a sharp corner and wobbled in place.

“Just passing through, officer.” Geoffrey hissed, one hand still cradling his bandaged side while the other supported himself against the wall. His whole body was shaky and weak as he huffed and puffed for air. Sweat beaded his brow and snaked down his neck, cooled quickly by the chilly Autumn weather as a feverish heat swept across his body with rolling waves of sickness still waging a war inside of him.

“Not lookin like that, I’d hope.” The man spoke carefully, eying up the bandages on his body. Geoffrey noticed when his eyes were drawn to the blood on his arm and the tacky imprint of where it’d been smeared along with a few sparse droplets from giving Swansea Jr. a bloody nose. “Com’ere lad. Mind if we have a chat?”

“I’d rather not.” Geoffrey shuffled in place, feeling reluctant to leave the safety of the alcove. He felt a sweeping wave of dizziness threaten to unsteady him once more as he gripped the brickwork.

“That wasn’t a request, lad.” The man added, the gruffer tone of his words hinted at age, and as Geoffrey shifted, he noted the slight greying along the curve of his jaw where short patches of stubble started to grow in from missed days of shaving. The man gripped his nightstick firmly, a silent final warning for the hunter. Geoffrey straightened up as much as his stitches would allow and shook his head.

“And I’m not in the mood for this shite.” Geoffrey retorted. His adrenaline spiked, his heart thundered once more in his ears, an inevitable rush that washed out all other sounds in a white out as Geoffrey moved without thinking. He saw the nightstick coming and shoved himself away from the wall while bringing his arm down in time to deflect the strike, forcing the momentum of the bobby’s arm into the wall, effectively pinning it in place. His hand then shot up to wrap around the man’s neck, tucking his body against the brickwork to use as a secondary source to keep his assailant in place. Geoffrey leaned his weight into the man’s back, placing the scalpel close to his throat to thwart any further attempts at fighting back. The hunter pressed his knee against the back of the man’s leg and held him steady. It wasn’t easy with only one arm to work with but the addition of the scalpel ensured the man stayed still without making any further stupid decisions. 

The nightstick fell to the ground at their feet, leading to a satisfying smirk dancing on Geoffrey’s face as he growled. “Now, I’m gonna walk away and yer gonna leave me the hell alone. Got it?” he scraped the scalpel along the curve of the man’s throat with a wicked curl of his lips. One final lance of fear for the man beneath him, a deadly promise he won’t actually carry out, but he wished to instill the same sort of terror in the unfortunate man that he had been suffering from since he woke up. That primal terror that burrowed into his bones since his youth and haunted him into his adult life. The fear of a death so close at hand yet unseen from the shadows, hidden behind cordial gestures and closely guarded smiles of sympathy. A vile end for certain, and one he narrowly escaped if he did say so himself.

He slowly withdrew the surgical blade as the man bobbed his head slowly with a whimper in his throat. He didn’t necessarily have the strength to spare, but Geoffrey wasn’t one to turn tail like a hare with a hound on its tracks so when the man relaxed against his chest, he tightened his forearm around his throat, applying just enough pressure to knock the bobby out. He wasn’t necessarily gentle in leaving him on the ground but he did his best given his circumstances.

He kept the scalpel in his grasp, searched the street for any more troublesome fellows before starting the long walk to safety. Night was falling fast and he didn’t have the energy left in him for any more fights.

  
  



	2. Jonathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan goes looking for his missing hunter. Geoffrey is having one of the worst days in his life.

Chaos was the most accurate description for what he had woken up to that evening. Swansea pounded on his office door with an irate Ackroyd and fuming Nurse Branagan on his heels, only sparing him enough time to clean up and change his clothes for the night. He was adjusting his tie just as they entered, impatient and agitated, both heart rates spiked and disheveled by nerves. Swansea looked the most frazzled of the two but still somehow pleased underneath it all as if some opinion on some unseen problem had been proven justified. When he discovered the troublesome cause of it all was Geoffrey McCullum, he understood the unlying smugness in Swansea’s behavior.

"I have told you before that he is a menace, Jonathan." Swansea blurted after both Ackroyd and Branagan reported the events of their earlier fiasco and was then dismissed by the Administrator for the day. Dr. Ackroyd looked put off by the whole thing and Nurse Branagan looked like she had more than a few  _ opinions  _ on the matter.

"Surely you're overreacting a bit, Edgar." Jonathan offered sternly, taking into consideration that Geoffrey had only inflicted minor injuries on Dr. Strickland when the hunter was far more capable of killing even the most skilled assailant even in his situation and from the sound of things, Strickland had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Jonathan," Swansea implored. "He threatened the life of one of our staff."

"Has Pembroke never had a case involving potentially dangerous or particularly agitated patients before? How we as doctors handle ourselves during situations involving high intensity encounters with disoriented or upset patients details our effectiveness in the field and our own skills as professionals." Jonathan explained simply. "Mr. McCullum, no matter your personal squabbles or affiliations, was a wounded and potentially disoriented or upset patient that had a negative encounter that caused him to react that way."

"Jonathan-" Swansea started but Jonathan continued.

"He is not an animal to be dismissed and left to die on the streets, Edgar." Jonathan added. "Maybe we ought to think about adding risk evaluation to the training schedule? After this encounter it is apparent that we, the institution as a whole, are not properly prepared for future scenarios involving high intensity cases."

Swansea stood by, staring after the ekon with disbelief. Jonathan ignored the slack jawed expression as he donned his coat and approached the balcony door. "Until then, I'll be out searching for our missing patient. I am responsible for his health and safety after all." Jonathan reminded him.

"Jonathan, I don't believe this is the appropriate action to take regarding McCullum's mental state." The Administrator began to protest but Jonathan was beyond the patience to sit and listen. After hearing Geoffrey's dire status, he was more eager to find his dear hunter. Night had fallen and the guard was in no state to be on his own.

"Edgar, remember to shut my door on your way out." He didn't miss the way Edgar gawked at him like a fish out of water before Jonathan dropped down from the balcony in a burst of shadows and ventured out into the darkened city streets.

Following Geoffrey's trail proved to be no easy task as it weaved and crisscrossed through the streets towards Whitechapel. It grew heavier in a side alley, accompanied by the putrid stench of vomit and the underlying hints of fresh blood. His ekon senses picked up on the subtle smears across the brickwork where the hunter had leaned against it. The trail veered off and away from the more occupied streets, a foolish move for a man searching for help. Gauging by how faded the scent was, Geoffrey still had a considerable amount of daylight left which meant safety away from predators. And yet…

"Did something happen along the way?" Jonathan inquired as he emerged from the shadows to inspect a blood splatter on the cobblestones. He didn't need to crouch down to get a better look at it to know the hunter had split his stitches open. He could smell it, fresh blood with a touch of antiseptic from cleaning the wound earlier.

"You sought safety." Jonathan hummed. "You couldn't have gone far in that state."

The ekon searched the surrounding streets from his perch high above on the rooftops. He parsed out the stronger beating hearts of healthy civilians and the sparse smaller few of animals, rodents and stray cats alike. He swiveled, his ears and eyes prepared to catch any sign or sound of the hunter when he was drawn to the agitated growl of a sewer beast and the faint beating of claws against a door.

He couldn't see it from here but Jonathan could certainly hear it and that was more than enough for him to track it to an old tenant building. The front gate was jimmied open, the lock bent where someone had tried to latch it improperly before a great force busted through. 

Geoffrey's blood was stronger here, large droplets splattered the grass where dirt scuffed from a scramble as someone fell then climbed back to their feet before fumbling and falling again. At the front entrance, Jonathan found a door had been wrenched almost completely off its hinges as something big forced its way through. He could hear the agitated growls and frustrated snarls of the sewer beast, the stench of rot and sewage accompanied its putrid fur, matted and discolored by the squalor it wallowed in senselessly.

Its claws raked across the wood of the offending door, deep gouges of older attempts earlier in the night had layers curled and peeling away from the frame. The hinges squeaked, creaked and groaned under the effort as the frame warped under the pressure. It would inevitably give under the beast's relentless rattling of it and whatever prize awaited it on the other side would be devoured in its maws.

Jonathan didn't dally anymore than necessary as he summoned a blood spear into the palm of his hand and sent it flying like a lance, piercing the beast's skull and successfully splattering its brain matter across the door it had been dutifully abusing. It slumped to the ground with a heavy thump as the ekon jumped forward and landed at its side, giving the beast a wary kick of his foot and forcing it away from the entrance to the room.

Now that it was quiet, he could hear the softer sounds of heavy labored breathing and the sniffling of a distressed human being. The spike in heart rate was a temptation Jonathan had danced around long enough to focus past it and treat it as a symptom to diagnose and not a meal in waiting. Geoffrey's scent was far stronger here, saturating the room as he reached for the door and knocked gently.

"Geoffrey, can you hear me?" Jonathan called out, loud enough to be heard through the door but hopefully not enough to startle or distress the hunter any further. "It's me, Jonathan. I've dispatched the sewer beast so it's safe to come out now."

"Fuck off." Jonathan heard the bitten off curse but it was heavy, laiden with rough emotions underlying it. Jonathan heard the shuddering breath and the shaky inhale that followed. He listened closely, dissecting the symptoms as he examined the hunter through the wall. 

"I ain't going back there. Never again." Geoffrey growled, but it was weak, his words fading and broken, interrupted by another unsteady breath that left off on a soft gasp.

He was upset, Jonathan could tell that much. Was he crying? Jonathan understood that fear was a perfectly natural response to dire situations of high stress, add in the mix of immense pain and the threat of a beast looming over him and it was no surprise when even the strongest men crumble beneath the weight of their emotions. There was no shame in that. Jonathan had witnessed the private vulnerability of many soldiers during the war and found solace in the silent understanding they shared amidst each other.

"Geoffrey, please open the door. You're bleeding and I need to-"

"Ya ain't feeding on me, leech!" Geoffrey hissed, giving the door a firm kick. Unknowingly releasing it from the cracked and fragile locking mechanism, it popped open. The hunter sucked in a sharp breath as what little safety he had dissolved in those few seconds. It was accompanied by the realization on Jonathan's end that had he arrived even moments later, the hunter would have been as good as dead.

Jonathan peered through the door and spied the hunter's disheveled appearance. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and he was too pale to be safe. Shivering and filthy, the bandages were stained with dark spots, crusted in blood and caked with dirt from his earlier fall. His palms and the inside of his forearms were scraped, along with the side of his face where he had hit something hard. A bruise had already formed in its place. The most startling detail of all that stopped Jonathan in his tracks were the tears that fell down the hunter's face as he wielded the stolen scalpel with a trembling hand.

"Stay away from me beast." He hissed.

" _ Geoffrey _ ." Jonathan's voice softened as he slowly approached the hunter and started to remove his coat with a hand raised to placate him. Geoffrey flinched and struck with the scalpel, slicing open the ekon's outreached palm. Jonathan hissed but refrained from showing his fangs as he curled his fingers over the wound. It healed quickly, the minor set back failed to thwart his efforts as he spoke.

"Here, take my coat. It's far warmer." He assured and offered the article of clothing to the Irishman. Geoffrey stared at it suspiciously, his eyes narrowed and unfocused before slowly reaching for the article with shaky hands. Jonathan stepped closer to assist him as the hunter struggled to get his wounded arm through the sleeve. It was a bit snug around the shoulders but fit well enough for the temporary necessity. Jonathan noted that he still clung to the scalpel, even as his fingers fumbled to work with the combined blood loss and pain clouding his thoughts and obscuring his concentration. The additional object in the way of his grasp didn't help but the doctor refrained from voicing that thought. Instead he focused on the more important problems at hand.

"Geoffrey?" Jonathan spoke softly once more and earned a delayed grunt from the hunter as he stared back at him almost unseeing of the doctor's presence. "Would it be alright if I examine your wounds?"

"Don't touch me." The hunter mumbled. Jonathan hadn't missed the way his adrenaline spiked as his pulse jumped sharply. He was worn ragged, every breath was a laborious attempt and he reeked of sickness and stomach bile. Jonathan could see the way he struggled to keep his eyes open and how he clung to the scalpel with desperation for some form of safety.

"It's not safe here." Jonathan started. "You need appropriate medical attention, Geoffrey. Do you understand me? You  _ will  _ die if you ignore your wounds."

"Then I'll die and you'll be happier than a….a-" His words slurred together drunkenly as he grew quieter in his retorts. Jonathan noticed how his chin rested clumsily against his chest as he failed to keep his own head up. Even the height at which he held the scalpel was faltering as his hand slowly sank to rest against his knee. 

"Your death does not bring me happiness whatsoever, McCullum. Despite how often you've enjoyed playing the part of an errant thorn in my side, I've grown fond of your troublesome approach and would surely miss it should something unfortunate ever happen." It wasn't necessarily what he had intended to say but he doubted it could hurt given the dire situation.

"D'ya ever shuddup leech?" Geoffrey cursed and closed his eyes as another tear slipped down his cheek and fell to his chest. "Let me die'n peace."

"I refuse to abide by that request." Jonathan countered sternly. "Come on, McCullum. To your feet. Even if I have to carry you, I will not allow you to succumb to your own foolishness."

"Fuck off." The hunter spat like an irate stray, swinging the scalpel in his hand but this time Jonathan was wary enough to gently catch his wrist.

"Let me take this for the moment before you lose it. You can have it back when we're somewhere safe." He promised as he tucked the scalpel into his own pocket and scooped the hunter into his arms. 

Geoffrey ragdolled in his grasp, the smell of blood grew much stronger but the underlying scent of antiseptics both lingering on Geoffrey's skin and now from the addition of his own coat was enough to deter his tempting appetite. The Irishman squirmed in his grasp but eventually gave up to defeat.

Jonathan felt sated in his success as he briskly exited the tenant buildings and headed for the West End as quickly as his abilities would allow it. Three jumps later as Jonathan steadied the hunter in his arms, he had assumed Geoffrey had lost consciousness. Instead he was met with the uneasy and heart wrenching sound of the man shattering in his arms. The broken sob rocked the hunter's whole body as he gasped for air and whimpered with resounding pain. His earlier tears had been a shadow of the depressive state that had overcome him as they now fell without any sign of stopping. Geoffrey buried his face in his palm as Jonathan's footsteps slowed, feeling uncertain of how to handle this new issue.

"Geoffrey, I promise to you that I will take you somewhere safe." He started, his voice soft and soothing as he adjusted the hunter's weight before leaping across rooftops in quick succession. "I will allow no harm to come to you, you have my word."

There was a shaky uncertain bob of the head but Jonathan couldn't ascertain whether that was in response to his words or just the hunter jostled by his jumps. He leaped faster, unconcerned with nausea when blood loss was his greatest enemy at the moment. His quick movements turned into a brisk jog as he cut through narrow back alleys.

"Ain't goin back. Don't take me back. Ain't dyin like that." The hunter's words were muffled and made worse off by his near blubbering state. 

" _ Please Reid. _ " Jonathan heard that loud and clear as Geoffrey grasped at his arm with what little strength he still had. He was fading fast, the doctor could tell by how he struggled to stay conscious and the laborious breathing.

"You're safe with me, dear hunter. Stay with me, Geoffrey. We're almost there." Jonathan assured, as the balcony of his family home was in sight. With one last leap to the doorway, he juggled the hunter to open the door and slipped inside. Geoffrey had gone slack against his chest as the last shreds of his consciousness slipped away.

In hindsight, it made his work easier without a fussing patient. He carefully set him in his desk chair and turned to get a fire going in his fireplace. Jonathan quickly left the room to collect a dish of warm water from the kitchen, clean towels and informed Avery on the fact he had a guest in his room that he was taking care of. The butler, dutiful as ever, eagerly gathered additional blankets to help tend to the hunter and waited for Jonathan's request.

Jonathan was grateful as he enlisted Avery's aid in cleaning Geoffrey up with a warm wet cloth while the doctor prepared his tools to close the wounds once more. He finished far faster than Avery and rolled his sleeves up to grab a cloth and help scrub the muck and grime off of the hunter's body.

"If I may inquire sir, but what happened to Mr. McCullum?" Avery recalled the name Jonathan had introduced his dear hunter by and smiled sympathetically to the older caretaker.

"He was wounded after running foul with an attacker on the streets and ended up at Pembroke under my care. While I was away, he became distraught by something and left the hospital in his haste. Unfortunately, he had ran into more than one altercation afterwards and tore his stitches back open." Jonathan gently informed as he wiped the damp cloth along the curve of Geoffrey's neck and scrubbed the dark smear of blood from his cheek.

"I see. It is fortunate that you were watching over him, Mr. Jonathan." Avery sighed, a sense of fondness and immense paternal pride glimmered in his eyes. Jonathan smiled back as Avery averted his gaze to examine the bowl and the nearly blackened water within. "I'll retrieve another."

"Could you make that two?" Jonathan added. "I'll need a clean one when I close the wound."

"Certainly sir." Avery rose back to his feet with some effort in his old bones and happily rushed off, leaving Jonathan a moment of privacy with Geoffrey.

The fire was crackling now, the orangish glow cast strange shadows across Geoffrey's face, leaving deep hollows along the bleak stretches of pallor. The pits wept around his eyes as Jonathan washed away the filthy tear stains and gently brushed a hand through Geoffrey's hair as he searched for any signs of underlying head injuries aside from the one on his face.

Geoffrey groaned and tilted his head in his sleep, a subtle twitch and nothing more under Jonathan's touch. The doctor sighed and waited for Avery to return.

They finished cleaning Geoffrey up before Jonathan laid out an old sheet and towels across the floor. Avery watched over his shoulder with wide eyes as Jonathan cut away the thick blood soaked bandages and quickly began suturing the wound. He had to enlist Avery's aid in requesting a second hand to mop up the blood that welled to the surface during his makeshift surgery.

The butler handled it without fail and listened to every directive as Jonathan worked, closing each split and checking the others for any signs of strain. Once Geoffrey was cleaned up for a second time and Jonathan placed him (with Avery's assistance) in a clean pair of trousers, he carefully lifted him into bed. The newer fresher bandages were a stark contrast against his skin.

He felt an odd sense of regret writhing in the pit of his stomach as he inspected Geoffrey's pitiful state. Never before had he ever seen the proud and confident leader of Priwen so frightened and broken. Maybe, had he done something differently, maybe if he hadn't left Geoffrey alone, things would have been different. He could have done something, anything to have prevented this result, though as much as he racked his brain for answers, there was very little that found light. In truth, there was no foreseeing these events and that was a fact he had to accept in this situation.

Now that Geoffrey was safe, he could examine the events far closer than before and in doing so, he noticed a similarity in Geoffrey's erratic and unpredictable behavior to the one of Mr. Oswald Thatcher. His detestment of hospitals and his fear of enclosed spaces and tunnels was similar in the blind and very irrational panic that Geoffrey exhibited. Both men were very strong, confident and self-assured, both men of war that survived far worse perils countless times over, and both had succumbed to the very real and mundane fears that plague the human condition.

From that perspective, Jonathan deduced that perhaps there wasn't really anything he  _ could have done _ to prevent this outcome. Geoffrey needed immediate medical attention otherwise he would have died. The blood transfusion alone had saved his life, something of which Jonathan couldn't do in the comfort of his own home. It was certainly worth broaching when the hunter woke up, but until then, he would let him rest as long as necessary.

In the meantime, Jonathan directed Avery to keep a close watch on Geoffrey while he left to recover a few things from Pembroke. He doubted the hunter would wake before he returned but just in case, he was too afraid to leave him unattended in his current state. Avery on the other hand, was more than happy to assist and watch over Geoffrey. His delight at being able to aid Jonathan's efforts provided both a sense of reassurance for the doctor but was also accompanied by a barb of guilt, as he realized he had neglected the elderly caretaker and his own needs since his return. There wasn't exactly much that Avery  _ could  _ assist him with since Jonathan didn't need to eat and he cleaned up after himself. The lack of socialization probably didn't help the poor man since Emelyne's mind began to slip. Even now, she was unaware of the goings on in her own home as the pair tended to the wounded Irishman. That wasn't a comforting thought as he recalled Avery's numerous attempts to stay busy, organizing shelves that had already been organized three times over or the way he just aimlessly wandered the house with nothing to occupy his time or stimulate him mentally.

Perhaps, this was his chance to try being a better friend and family member to those most important to him. Starting with Geoffrey first, of course. The man was a conflicted conundrum of coiled spikes and sharpened words, though when he was lucid and sound of mind, he was an admirable rival that kept Jonathan on his toes and a soothing companion to get him through the bitterly long nights, even if that meant they butted heads over insignificant problems as Jonathan whisked in, killed the problematic vampire Geoffrey (and his men) were fighting then left with a teasing line or two and shadows whirling in his tracks.

They had been on an unofficial truce for a few weeks now as Geoffrey's men spent less time shooting at him and more time making explicit or jesting commentary towards the complicated relation between Geoffrey and his 'pet leech'. 

Jonathan sighed as he stepped quickly across London's hazardous weather beaten rooftops and made haste to avoid getting caught in the coming storm. His thoughts dismissed to maintain his focus though his fond feelings for the hunter remained a beacon of warmth burning in his chest as he strove to do better and be a better friend for Geoffrey's sake.


	3. Mama Reid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey meets Mama Reid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally planned this to be 3 chapters long but the third chapter was becoming far too long so i cut it into two and so now this will be a 4 chapter fic.

It was strange for Geoffrey, as he started to rouse from his sleep, to finally feel warm with very little pain writhing in his chest. For once he could actually breath without the sharp jagged edges of agony threatening to split his lungs open with every breath. Despite the reprieve, his head pounded, his throat felt raw and his stomach was tightening up with knots of ravenous hunger. He felt more like he'd just finished a night of drinking with the lads down at the Turquoise Turtle instead of narrowly avoiding imminent death for the last…. God knows when.

He blinked his eyes to clear away the sleep that clouded them and noticed an unfamiliar sight. The ceiling wasn't the bleak and angry water strained patterns of Pembroke, that note was furthered by the presence of a crackling fire flooding the room with a pleasant and sleepy heat. The bed was larger than the stiff cots and far more comfortable, a sensation that increased due to the considerable amount of blankets piled on top of him. They were of a finer material than any odd bloke on the street could afford which lent to the realization that his dreams of the leech doctor coming to his rescue weren't actually dreams at all.

Hot shame rushed over his face when that led to the additional acknowledgment that he cried like a child in front of said same leech doctor and he just….gently reassured and consoled Geoffrey. The hunter wasn't sure how he felt about that now that he had his wits about him, but some part of his thoughts itched with unease at the unknowing vulnerability he allowed to slip through in the company of his enemy.

_'But are we still truly enemies?'_

That was the big question there. Jonathan had, on numerous occasions, gone out of his way to save Geoffrey's life. This incident was possibly the most astounding and shocking of them all as the Irishman balanced on the cusp of true death, rife with fear and shaken right down to his core as every faculty failed him. 

Were it not for Reid, he would be six feet down or freshly dug up as Skal food.

With that in mind, he dismissed the overwhelming thoughts that he owed Reid his life and started the tedious and somewhat painful task of trying to sit upright. He grimaced as his arm brushed the drawn curtains and allowed a shard of bright sunlight to blind side him, making his eyes sting and water.

"Least I know it's safe to move about." Geoffrey cursed as he searched the room for any sign of the good doctor tucked in shadowy corners away from the light of day. He was surprised but also concerned by the fact he saw no sign of the man other than the faint hints that he was still within the home. His coat was hanging up by the door and there was a clean button up linen shirt folded neatly in the chair beside the bed with Geoffrey's name carefully scrawled in pen on a piece of paper.

_Geoffrey,_

_Should you wake before I do, I took the liberty of laying out a clean change of clothes. There is a bottle on the nightstand with pain medication, two tablets with a glass of water is the prescribed dosage should your pain return. DO NOT take more than that. If you need any assistance at all, simply call for Avery. He will see to your needs and is aware of your circumstances._

_Please refrain from any strenuous activity and try to rest._

_-Sincerely yours,_

_Jonathan_

  
  


"Yeah right." Geoffrey scoffed, side eyeing the bottle of medication warily as he started to shift about once more. He ignored the warmth that rushed to his face at the sign off and shoved the note aside dismissively, neglecting the warm fluttery sensation in his stomach as nausea or some shit like that. It vanished as a knock came at the door just as he noticed a small yet urgent problem of his own.

"Mr. McCullum, pardon the intrusion sir but is there anything I could help you with?" The voice was brittle with age, a gravelly sound that set on his nerves, reminded of the life long servants that upper class leeches often kept. Of course, he was aware that Jonathan was new to this world of cloak and shadows with ekon hierarchy within the human society. He had done his own research and knew that the Reid family came into a small fortune through Aubrey Reid's dedicated efforts to build his family a tidy and cozy place to grow up and continue living after his late demise. This appeared to be their only servant in their household and a lifelong friend of Aubrey Reid.

"Aye." Geoffrey grunted as he hung his legs over the edge of the bed and let his toes touch the cooler wood floorboards. He hissed as he pushed himself upright to stand and felt the tightness in his chest as the motion pulled on his stitches. He kept his bad arm against his side in an attempt to move it the least amount as possible.

The door clicked open to reveal the meek expression of the elderly butler that gazed back at him thoughtfully.

"Excuse me sir. Do you need any assistance?" The man stood in the entrance respectfully, waiting for Geoffrey's directions.

_'Bloody toffs and their bloody butlers.'_ Geoffrey cursed inwardly and shifted again. 

"Aye, suppose so. Got a lavvy I could use?" Just asking was a mild bit degrading and made him all sorts of uncomfortable in doing so. If the butler noticed, he didn't comment on it and instead gestured towards the door. Geoffrey felt stiff and sore all over, every joint ached and was slow to follow his demands as he shuffled after the butler. He realized just how much of a furnace the room was once he stepped out into the rest of the house. Goosebumps raced up his arms as a shiver curled down his spine from the subtle chill.

"This way sir." Avery directed, raising a hand towards the doorway with a thoughtful brow raised in his direction. "Need anything else, sir?"

"Nah, don't think so." Geoffrey bobbed his head at the man as he slipped into the lavatory. It was bigger than he expected and every surface practically shined from the expensive porcelain and well maintained tile floors. A large tub sat in the corner that Geoffrey figured he could fit almost his whole body in comfortably.

Geoffrey glared at his newfound problem. He fumbled with the infuriating clasp on his trousers and scowled as his fingers didn't want to quite work for him. Without his second hand to help him, he kept slipping and missing, causing his impatience to slide closer to panic.

"Ugh...damn it." Geoffrey cursed.

"Sir?"

He jolted in surprise, not expecting the butler to still be standing outside the door but in lieu of risking the potential problem of pissing himself in a more embarrassing turn of events, he sucked up his pride and sighed. _'At least it's not Reid.'_

"Avery was it?"

"Yes sir."

"Mind if I ask fer a bit of help? Bum arm 'n all, can't get the damn button." Geoffrey explained as the butler opened the door and stepped inside. He appeared unbothered as he helped slip the button free in a matter of seconds for Geoffrey, the hunter on the other hand was red faced and uneasy having someone's attention on him like that. He cleared his throat awkwardly and nodded. 

"Thanks."

"Certainly sir." Avery saw himself out, shutting the door behind himself as Geoffrey saw to his own business. He fixed his trousers until they rested on his hips haphazardly and balanced there while he washed up. As he was leaving, Avery had his clean shirt in hand and helped Geoffrey fasten his trousers and put the shirt on. He left the front half buttoned for comfort around the bandages while still keeping it modest.

"If you'll come with me, sir, I'll make you a spot of tea and some lunch. You'll want to keep up your strength for your recovery." Avery shared that same sympathetic gentleness that Geoffrey had often associated with Jonathan, that softened way he doted over those around him without a care or thought towards how cruel they were in return. It made sense where he learned such an admirable trait if this was the man who cared for him most of his life.

Geoffrey felt a jolt of guilt as he recalled cutting the doctor with his filched scalpel when all he did was offer him his coat to stay warm. As much as he wished for it, he had no real excuse as to why he did that. Saying he was out of his mind felt more like a copout. Some fragile hand waving bollocks that a lesser man would spout, raving and desperate to hide his indecencies, but Geoffrey was not that kind of man and he supposed he did, as much as he hated the thought itself, owe the good doctor a proper apology.

He mulled it over as he followed Avery down the steps towards the first floor where the kitchen was situated. It was right at the bottom of the steps and to the left. A tempting thought was drawn forth when he noticed the unguarded front door, just within reach. It wouldn't take much for him to walk out and make his way back to Priwen headquarters.

And yet, he didn't. He trailed after Avery as the butler entered the kitchen and quickly prepared the kettle to boil.

"Are you feeling well sir?" Avery spoke up, interrupting Geoffrey's distant thoughts as he lingered by the counter. His gaze was unfocused as he stared at the silver tray the butler had set on the counter with two tea cups upon it. 

"Hm?"

"Mr. Jonathan informed me that you may have a fragile appetite. If so, he directed me to prepare something light for lunch." Avery explained thoughtfully.

_'Bloody leech doctor thought about everything it seems.'_ Geoffrey scrubbed his hand over his face and bobbed his head in confirmation. "Aye, that'd be fine."

In truth, he wasn't sure if he could really eat and keep it down. He hadn't had a proper meal since O'Connor made supper before patrol two nights ago. He was shaky with every step and movement, a bone deep jitteriness that he couldn't sooth.

"Understood sir." Avery smiled as he began to prepare the meal. "You're more than welcome to have a seat sir."

"I'd rather stand, thanks." Geoffrey grunted. A bold face lie but he was too restless in an unfamiliar place to find any solace in sitting still, fearful of having his back turned at the wrong time. He didn't suspect Avery of ill intention but Carl had always warned him of the dangers inside a leech's lair. He inspected the open layout of the kitchen as Avery donned an apron and set a pot on the stove, eventually making his way back out into the main entryway. Down the hall he spied a door left open a crack, drawn by his own dangerous curiosity and the urge to snoop as he pleased while unsupervised, he made his way towards it.

Geoffrey brushed his fingers against the door, giving it a little nudge to peer inside. What he found, he hadn't necessarily been expecting.

_'Well, now I know where the leech went.'_ He stifled a snort as he inspected the scene. Jonathan had most of his body stretched across the couch in the parlor with only his legs hanging over the arm due to his ridiculous height. He was dressed down in a comfortable pair of trousers and a loose fitting button up similar to the one Geoffrey was currently wearing. His arms were folded lazily over his chest as his head rested in the lap of an elderly woman that the hunter presumed to be his mother.

She wore a long thicker black mourning gown. A blanket was carefully draped around her shoulders while another was drawn over Jonathan and was gently tucked in to cover from his mid chest down. Her long wrinkled fingers appeared crippled by age but not so far off that it stopped her from combing them gently through her son's hair as she gazed upon his peaceful face with a motherly fondness Geoffrey hadn't seen since he lost his own mother. 

That ghostly ache returned as he observed Emelyne Reid switching between the gentle petting motions back to the book she had balanced in her other hand. She would stop occasionally to turn the page, murmuring something softly to her son about the story, some romance by what little Geoffrey overheard, then returning to her page. Her idle motions cradled the ekon's cheek as she brushed her thumb over his cheekbone and sighed.

"You're so cold still my dear boy. I'll ask Avery to bring us another blanket." Jonathan didn't respond with that death like stillness accustomed to sleeping ekons afflicted with the curse of daylight. It was hard to imagine him as a man-eating beast with the potential to rip Vulkods apart with his bare hands when he was like this. No, Geoffrey corrected, because he wasn't just some beast blinded by rage and the gnawing hunger. He was a man among his family, with a duty to his profession. As much as Geoffrey despised that fact, no matter how much he wished at the end of long nights with lonesome patrols that he could cut Reid down on the spot if only to sever those nonsensical feelings that filled his chest with a confusing warmth. The way the good doctor would appear in a flash of shadows and end a fight that had shifted out of Priwen's favor with only a few seconds necessary and offer a parting smile so sweet and enticing that it made Geoffrey hate himself and his own duty as a hunter. So many nights spent with wounded pride, nursing a bottle until the sun rose as he cursed his job and wished for the easy mundane life of being a simple man unaware of this bloody war and the beasts that roamed the streets each night.

"Oh, you're more than welcome to join us." Emelyne called to Geoffrey, causing the hunter to stiffen in surprise. He gave a sheepish smile as she beckoned him in with an eager dainty hand. "Mr. McCullum was it? You're a friend of my Jonathan's?"

"Er, not quite Ma'am. More like acquaintances." Geoffrey corrected as he eased his way into the room like a child caught eavesdropping. His shoulders sank a little then relaxed as she offered him the cozy armchair across from her. She closed her book and set it on the coffee table, a gesture that lingered over the chipped wood on the corner closest to her. It looked out of place compared to the rest of the carefully maintained and polished surface. She must have caught his eye, sharp as a needle she was certainly despite her old age.

"The damage to the table was from Jonathan when he was a little boy. He was chasing his sister, Mary, around with a bug he caught and tripped on the carpet. I nearly fainted when I saw his head hit the table." Geoffrey didn't miss the way she gently touched the crooked bridge of Jonathan's nose with a flicker of grief in her eyes. Her thumb outlined the scar on his cheek. 

"He had always been very handsome." She sighed wistfully, a devilish smile spreading on her face as Avery entered with a tray of tea. "Avery, would you be a dear and retrieve that picture over there?" She raised a hand towards the mantle above the fireplace where several photographs lined it. The butler bowed his head respectfully and moved to take up the piece, passing it to Emelyne as she took it gingerly in her hands, before he returned to pouring their tea.

"A family friend of mine put on a show while we were visiting Paris. It was supposed to be a once in a lifetime event with quite the scandalous theme but one of her models had fallen ill and couldn't perform." She passed the photograph over to Geoffrey who quietly stared at the woman as her delight evolved into a mischievous light in her old fading eyes. "Jonathan was only seventeen at the time and so eager for life's experiences. A trait I'm afraid he got from me."

Geoffrey hadn't expected the black and white image of a young Jonathan, beardless and smiling in that charming way he often did that stole the hearts of the unwary. What he wore was possibly more impressive with long knee length leather boots with a considerable heel to the back. Geoffrey didn't see any proper trousers covering his legs, and could make out the faint edges of black fabric that went mid thigh. A proper vest was tailored for short sleeves and a deep open front. It was no surprise as to why such a scandalous show would have only happened _once_ given the indecency and obscenity often scowled at by upperclass toffs.

Geoffrey snorted at the image, saving the tidbit of information for later when he could harass the leech with embarrassing memories. He could already imagine the put off and pouting look on the doctor's face as Geoffrey informs him of all the lovely details his mother shared with him over tea. It was incredibly satisfying.

Emelyne proceeded to inform him of how handsome Jonathan was and how by the end of the show, he had more than a few fans trailing at his heels and some eager admirers. "The poor boy was so flustered, he didn't know how to handle all the attention." She laughed.

"He has such a soft heart." She added as she reached for her tea. Geoffrey noticed the way the cup trembled in her grasp. He watched her warily as she managed to navigate the act of taking a single drink, made far more complicated with her age.

"When he was a small boy, he believed an angel would visit him each night so he would leave presents out for it." Emelyne smiled fondly. "He asked me to help him make cookies so he could show it his appreciation and he left them on a plate with a letter attached."

"Really?" Geoffrey was intrigued at least. Mr. 'Man of Science' once believed in angels? It was hard to imagine Reid as the religious type.

"I believe Aubrey had eaten the cookies when he came home later that evening. Jonathan thought it was the angel and he was so excited about it, I couldn't imagine telling him otherwise." She took another sip of her tea and hummed, her eyes alight as she searched for memories to retell and stories to share with Geoffrey. They talked about Jonathan's early childhood and how he rescued a wounded bird that broke its wing, how he cared for it for days until it was well enough to fly again. Emelyne believed that was when Jonathan decided he wanted to be a doctor and help people. They discussed his formative years, his lack of luck in finding a _soul mate_ and how often he worked himself to the bone, to the point of exhaustion each day.

Geoffrey found it hard not to tell her that the death like sleep her son was currently in was not because of far too many hours working at the hospital. He couldn't bring himself to break the news, not with how she stroked his cheek and looked so longingly at the ekon as if her lost child had finally been found. He imagined her heartbreak while the good doctor was away at war, fretting over whether or not he would return to her safe and sound. It was a pain many mothers and wives faced, a hardship most had to endure through with bitter results to boot. Geoffrey wasn't sure which was better, had he never come home at all or to be home, turned into the vile creature he was now?

Geoffrey busied himself with his tea, swallowing down the herbal aroma when Emelyne's next question nearly caused him to choke. "Have you found your soul mate yet, Mr. McCullum?" 

He coughed and set his cup down quickly to avoid spilling it all.

"Soul mate, ma'am?" He cleared his throat and peered up at her with a creeping heat of embarrassment rising along his neck and cheeks. "I've not found myself a wife if that's what you mean."

"A kindred spirit to love and be loved by the rest of your life." She elaborated. "Love knows no bounds, Mr. McCullum. It could simply be my French blood but I believe there should be no bias in love. Man or woman, if they find comfort in each other the rest of their lives, why shouldn't they be allowed to do just that?"

"I'm afraid the law may say otherwise ma'am."

"Rules made by fools." She huffed.

Geoffrey allowed a laugh to slip out at that. "Aye, it's a habit of the times it seems."

"Regrettably so, Mr. McCullum." She wrinkled her nose at that as they both sipped their tea and continued with small talk. She had many questions for him and far more stories than he could count, all of which they shared over a light lunch. It was leading late into the evening when Jonathan started to stir from his slumber and the pair were deep into the topic of alcohol consumption and sharing tales of their drunken antics. To Geoffrey's amusement, Emelyne was a wild one in her youth with more trouble than most of his recruits.

"Good morning my darling boy." Emelyne greeted sweetly as Jonathan stiffly raised a hand to scrub the sleep from his eyes. He released a deep exhale Geoffrey knew he didn't truly need as he yawned and stretched his legs like a content and lazy house cat.

“Morning mother.” Jonathan offered a sleepy smile, his motions still sluggish and groggy as she brushed the hair back out of his face. There was a rare childishness in the way Jonathan spoke to her, echoing the words of a little boy shuffling out of bed with reluctance to face the day before burying his face into his mother’s embrace. Jonathan did exactly that as he rolled onto his side and snaked an arm around her waist to give her an awkward half hug. Her fingers spread through his hair as she cradled him close. 

“Darling, you really should be sleeping in your own bed.” She chided gently, turning a knowing smile in Geoffrey’s directions as the hunter watched silently and with confusion. That mischievous glint she shared with him earlier was shining brightly now, causing the hunter a moment of concern. If he’s learned anything in these long thirty odd years of his life, it's that he should always be wary of the machinations and deviousness of little old ladies and their innocent trickery. They’re wilier than even the most experienced Ekon and just as terrifying when they want to be.

“It was occupied, mother.” Jonathan mumbled into her skirts and flexed his shoulders, presumably still working his joints loose after the prolonged position all day. 

“And when has that ever stopped you?” She danced around the topic with teasing words.

Jonathan lifted his head and squinted at her. “Crawling into bed with you or Mary when I was a child is hardly the same as joining Geoffrey in my own bed.”

“No, it would just have more meaning in it Jonathan.” She cradled the side of his face as her gaze flicked from her son’s towards Geoffrey who sat stone still in his seat with his face beat red as Jonathan continued with confusion.

“That would be absurd. Besides, I doubt he feels comfortable just sharing a room with me. We’re merely acquaintances and I do not see a time when we will ever venture beyond that.” 

Geoffrey cleared his throat, fearing this discussion would progress beyond the bounds of his and Jonathan’s own comfort, orchestrated by the sneaky intentions of his own mother. Jonathan jolted upright, throwing his legs over the side of the couch so quickly he nearly threw himself off of it as he turned, wide eyed and wide awake to find Geoffrey sitting in the arm chair across. He doubted the leech had the blood in him to blush but if he had, he’d probably be just as red faced and flustered as Geoffrey was feeling at the moment. Jonathan opened his mouth to speak but simply gawked like a fish out of water, floundering for _something_ to say to break this awkward silence. 

“It is getting late.” Emelyne interrupted as she smoothed her skirts over her thighs and carefully removed the blanket from her shoulders and set it aside next to the one Jonathan knocked off onto the cushion behind him. “I think I’ll retire to bed early. Good night sweet heart.” She bid him, bending over to press a kiss to the ekon’s forehead as she carded her fingers through his hair one last time. 

Jonathan’s shoulders sank with the meekness of a child as he nodded. “Sleep well mother.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you Mr. McCullum. Do please come back. You’re more than welcome to join us for dinner any time.” Emelyne bid with a cordial smile. 

Geoffrey bowed his head respectfully. “Yes ma’am.”

Jonathan quietly rose to his feet after his mother left and occupied his hands to fold up their blankets and lay them over the back of the couch. Geoffrey fidgeted restlessly in his seat, waiting for the uncomfortable silence to break. Normally he could curse the leech out, spit some obscenity or another in his direction or just simply storm off, all of which he couldn’t necessarily do and Geoffrey wasn’t that much of an arse to act so horribly when the Reid family welcomed him into their home and treated him like any other person. There was no malice in their appraisal of him, no guarded smiles or snobby etiquette he was misunderstanding. They didn’t stare down at him along the bridge of their noses or forbid a Whitechapel urchin like him from so much as sitting on the furniture.

“Are you feeling better, Geoffrey?” Jonathan asked as he turned back to face the hunter and combed the disheveled bangs of his hair out of his face. It was a rare sight indeed to find the esteemed Dr. Reid looking so out of sorts and underdressed. A sight that Geoffrey didn’t necessarily despise so to speak. He found amusement in it as he followed the open front of Jonathan’s shirt and spied the old scars on his neck, a mark left behind by Jonathan’s Maker no doubt. A mark Geoffrey has thought about often, but in the frustrating shadows of his mind lost to the inevitable wiles of sleep and those lustful uncontrolled desires.

Emotions he refused to acknowledge as anything other than a sign of exhaustion and the need for a bit more whiskey in his coffee when he wakes up. 

“Aye, a bit.” He answered dumbly, scowling momentarily at himself as he pushed himself up to stand. “A bit sore is all.” An understatement made more obvious when he started to actually move. The dull ache was worse as he straightened up, the stitches pulled tight from the movement drew a wince from his face that he covered up by clearing his throat again.

“If you’re feeling up to it, I could walk you home or you’re more than welcome to stay another night here.” Jonathan offered awkwardly. “I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Hmm, I’m sure.” Geoffrey chuckled. “But I gotta get back to my men.” It wasn’t normal for him to vanish without warning. He was certain O’Connor and Bishop were already orchestrating a search for him as they spoke. 

“I see. Very well. Allow me a moment to get cleaned up and we can go?” Jonathan offered, to which Geoffrey simply bobbed his head in confirmation. It didn’t take long for Jonathan to put on a change of clothes and doll himself up properly. In fact, it took Geoffrey longer to try and put his boots and coat on by himself, eventually being forced to give up and sit while Jonathan helped him lace his boots up and situate his jacket so it wasn’t putting strain on his shoulder. One arm was left out of the sleeve which hung pathetically at his side. Jonathan even helped him don his red scarf, carefully wrapping it around Geoffrey’s neck and then fastened a proper sling for his arm to rest in as an afterthought. He collected Geoffrey’s medication before they headed for the stairs and tucked it inside the hunter’s coat along with the letter from earlier describing the appropriate dosage usage.

Geoffrey snorted and swatted at Reid’s absentminded fussing and urged him to hurry up. The walk out of the West End felt far longer than Geoffrey would have liked as they skirted past the busier crowds of people passing through the garden and market around the corner from Jonathan’s home. It wasn’t until they reached the edge of the borough that Jonathan opted to speak up on a matter that had previously been bothering him.

“Did I….do something wrong?” Jonathan asked quietly, his voice was uncharacteristically apprehensive as he broached the topic.

“Other than lacing my boots too tight, no.” Geoffrey retorted halfheartedly. “Whatcha gnawing at over there Reid?”

“I don’t mean now, but the other day. At the hospital.” Jonathan started.

Geoffrey grimaced and shook his head, ignoring the paranoid worm wiggling in his guts at the mention. “What makes you think that?”

“Well….” Jonathan’s voice trailed for a moment before his lips pursed in contemplation. His brows furrowed as he tried to carefully construct what he wanted to say first and foremost. Geoffrey waited with anxious steps that faltered when their shoulders bumped together.

“You made quite the impression when you checked yourself out yesterday.” Jonathan finally decided on this. “Which is why I was wondering if I did something wrong to upset you.”

“I just…” Geoffrey started, working the words around in his mouth felt like he was toying with glass and trying not to cut his tongue on the edges. He sighed heavily, regretting the action as his lungs felt too tight. A painful twitch left him frowning until it faded. “I’m not fond of hospitals.” He finally came out with it.

He waited for the ekon to mock him, to say some foul degrading commentary on his weakness and frailty as a man. Yet, as he prepared for biting words and bitter remarks, he earned a relieved sigh and a sympathetic smile.

“That’s all?” Jonathan seemed more pleased with the answer than Geoffrey expected.

“Aye?” He was waiting for the other shoe to drop as Jonathan stepped more lightly now and added.

“You’re not the first man to be struck with Latrophobia my dear hunter. It is one of the most common fears people have beside spiders and heights.” Jonathan nearly purred. “Even a few of your men share similar resignations towards different aspects of the medical field. Mr. Bonner for instance, apprehensive towards needles. Trying to get him to sit still long enough for a treatment is a task all its own.”

The hunter found himself standing still now as he stared at the doctor, entirely perplexed now. “What?”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of in the face of fear. Some phobias are hard to overcome but it is possible to do so by exposure therapy. Of course, with someone of your level of fear, I could tailor my practice to your level of comfort.” Jonathan explained as he folded his hands in front of himself. There was that charming smile and that reassuring presence Geoffrey felt overly conflicted about. He grumbled inwardly and continued walking, brushing past Jonathan briefly before slowing his pace for the ekon to catch up and join his stride.

“How do you plan to do that?” Color him curious now but anything that didn’t require him to go back to Pembroke as a patient was better than nothing.

“I have a few ideas but we can explore them at your leisure of course.” Jonathan piped up. The rest of the conversation was eye opening for the hunter as Jonathan stroked his years of medical expertise and experience, regaling him with one study and case after another. Geoffrey felt far more at ease in knowing he wasn’t being absurd or ridiculous. Years of suffering and hiding from the truth had felt so daunting as his fears ruled his life at every turn. Had he a more normal life, maybe he could have navigated it with simplicity but being part of Priwen came with certain dangers and Geoffrey was not well versed in watching his step and pulling back to avoid inevitable injury. That nagging concern that one of these days he would suffer a deadly blow was realized but he was pleasantly aware now, that despite his resignation and apprehension to the field, he could at least count on one not-so-insufferable leech to have his back. 


End file.
